


all we do is think about the feelings that we hide

by starkidpatronus



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Era, Emotional Repression, Episode: s02e08 The Sins Of The Father, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, POV Merlin, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Smut, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Until they get......Very Resolved, there is blood but it's not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 06:17:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16191791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkidpatronus/pseuds/starkidpatronus
Summary: "Merlin knows it looks odd for him to stand by Arthur’s side, stand where a wife should be. But Arthur doesn’t have a wife. And as long as they both pretend not to hear the rumors about the two of them, everything can remain normal."The Sins of The Father, with a twist.





	all we do is think about the feelings that we hide

**Author's Note:**

> Boy, has this fic been a labor of love!!
> 
> HUGE shout-out to cominguprosesx13 my beta for having the quickest turn-around I've ever seen.
> 
> Thank you to the incredible organizers of this fest for even sparking the idea for this fic in the first place!
> 
> The title of this fic is taken from the song "Drive" by Halsey.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading. <3

Merlin watches his torch light reflect off the walls in the otherwise dark cave. He sighs as the shadows shift, thinking he can read certain doom in them. Sullenly, he says, “All right, come on out. I know you’re there. I know you can hear me.”  
  
The sound of wings flapping, the cool wind they create hitting Merlin’s face. Then, Kilgharrah lands on his usual perch, settles himself, and peers at Merlin. “You look troubled, young warlock.”  
  
“I have failed,” Merlin states, looking down at the dusty ground. “Arthur has killed Uther. He is a tyrant. Or, that’s how people will see him.”  
  
“I see,” is all Kilgharrah offers.  
  
Merlin shakes his head at himself, swallowing past the lump in his throat, refusing to cry. “The kingdom is going to fall,” he sulks, “and it’s all going to be because I didn’t get there in time and stop him.” He hates himself more and more with each passing second.  
  
“Much of life is how we view it,” Kilgharrah remarks. “You do not need to see this as a disaster.”  
  
“It _is_ a disaster!” Merlin explodes. “Arthur killed his father to assume the throne. No matter how you look at it, this is a disaster, so do not try to tell me to change my perspective!”  
  
“Did he kill his father to assume the throne,” Kilgharrah poses, “or for something nobler than that?”  
  
“It doesn’t matter why he really did it,” Merlin answers, way ahead of Kilgharrah. “What matters is how the people of Camelot, and beyond, will see it. And they will see it as a son killing his father in a violent and impatient grab for power. People will not consent to being ruled by such a king. They will revolt, and the Saxons will see that, and capitalize on Camelot’s weakness, and then—all is lost,” he says hopelessly. “Arthur will never unite the lands of Albion.”  
  
“You have more power in this situation than you realize,” Kilgharrah informs him. Merlin merely arches a brow, and Kilgharrah explains, “People will believe what they are told to believe if enough evidence is presented to them that proves a certain narrative.”  
  
“How do you mean?” Merlin asks, unable to tap down the last bit of hope he still has.  
  
“If Arthur is to be the noble and just man who took control of the kingdom to right the wrongs of his father,” Kilgharrah elaborates, “then he must do so. And prove that his father truly was wrong.”  
  
“He—he would never,” Merlin declares, ignoring the way his heart jumps at the mere thought of what Kilgharrah is implying. “He loves his father. As soon as his anger passes, he will be overcome with grief. He would never want to tarnish his father’s memory like that. And his hatred of magic is so ingrained in him, I don’t think he’ll ever let it go. Not completely. In fact, he may double down because of all this.”  
  
“Perhaps,” Kilgharrah says, “if he learned someone dear to him had magic, it would change his mind.”  
  
“No.” Merlin’s shaking his head firmly. “No, absolutely not. He can never know.”  
  
“Haven’t you always wanted him to know?”  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” he asserts. “If I told him, he would lose all trust in me. I would turn his world upside-down, even more-so than it is now. He needs me by his side right now, supporting him. I can’t risk him cutting me out, not now, for the sake of the kingdom.”  
  
“Your support means that much to him?”  
  
“Yes,” says Merlin, without hesitation.  
  
“Hm,” is all Kilgharrah says. Merlin does not acknowledge the meaning of it.  
  
“Please,” he implores, “tell me what to do.”  
  
“I already have,” Kilgharrah replies, “and you have rejected all of my advice as unusable.”  
  
Merlin sighs. “If you have nothing else to offer me, I’ll leave.”  
  
“Then leave,” says Kilgharrah reasonably. “But remember, young warlock: Albion stands or falls on what you decide.”  
  
With that, Kilgharrah launches himself off his perch and flaps his strong wings, so he’s flying up and up and out of Merlin’s sight completely.  
  
Merlin doesn’t leave for a long while. He just stands there, the shadows dancing on the walls and the dragon’s parting words echoing in his mind.  
  
***  
Merlin is standing by Arthur’s side at the shrine-burning. It seems weird to hold a shrine-burning for the very man Arthur killed a day ago, but Arthur insisted on it, said that while his father was wrong on a great many things, he had still been a king of Camelot and deserved a proper send-off.  
  
Merlin knows it looks odd for him to stand by Arthur’s side, stand where a wife should be. But Arthur doesn’t have a wife. And as long as they both pretend not to hear the rumors about the two of them, everything can remain normal.  
  
As the fire burns, Merlin looks over at his king, sees the flames reflected in his tear-filled eyes. Arthur will not cry. Merlin knows this. But he reaches out and places his hand on Arthur’s shoulder anyways. Arthur doesn’t pull away.  
  
***  
  
The words “The king is dead, long live the king” are still echoing in Merlin’s mind as he enters Arthur’s chambers after the coronation ceremony. Everything is all wrong, this is all happening the wrong way, but he cannot deny the pride that filled his heart as he shouted the declaration along with the others.  
  
Arthur is standing at his window, looking out at the courtyard below. He doesn’t move when Merlin enters. For a moment, Merlin just stands by the dining table, not wanting to get too close, but not wanting to be too far away, either. Trapped in a middle ground, like always.  
  
Merlin thinks about how he’s never known his father, and says, “I know how hard this is for you.”  
  
“Have you ever killed your father, Merlin?” Arthur asks, not turning around or shifting his gaze away from the window.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Then you don’t know how hard this is for me,” he says with an edge to his voice. “So don’t patronize me.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Merlin says, not knowing what else to say.  
  
“For what?” Arthur tosses back. “My actions?”  
  
“Your loss.”  
  
Arthur just snorts.  
  
Merlin swallows, balling his fists once and relaxing them again. “My lord, I know you are still grieving,” he states. “But the kingdom needs you. Now more than ever.”  
  
“You think I don't know that, Merlin?” Arthur says in that way that makes it sound like Merlin is the biggest idiot on earth, finally turning around and facing him. “I'm well aware of my responsibilities to my people, thank you very much.”  
  
“Then you know about the unrest in town,” he says urgently. “And all over the kingdom.”  
  
“Yes,” Arthur responds testily, sitting down at his desk and pulling out the parchment containing budget details and a quill. Setting up his ink jar, he says, “I know.”  
  
“And you know something must be done.”  
  
“Yes, obviously, I know something must be done, Merlin!” Arthur explodes, throwing down his quill and splattering ink all over the budget sheet. Merlin already knows he'll have to clean it up and discern the details and copy them back out on a new parchment later. “What about it? Do you have any brilliant ideas?”  
  
“Yes!” Merlin exclaims, then backtracks, “Well, I don't know if it's a brilliant idea, but it is definitely an idea, and I think--”  
  
“For God’s sake, Merlin, out with it.”  
  
“Right, um,” Merlin looks around the room, at the bed, at the fireplace, at the dining table and chairs, at the dressing screen, anywhere but at Arthur. Not knowing how else to say it, he blurts out, “I think you should make magic legal again in the kingdom.”  
  
“Magic is what killed my father.”  
  
“You are what killed your father,” Merlin corrects. Arthur closes his eyes against it, but he needs to hear it. “And you were right to do it.”  
  
“Merlin.”  
  
“Uther had become tyrannical, unjust, and downright cruel,” he lists, before Arthur can stop him. “He did more harm than good to Camelot. It was time for his reign to end.”  
  
“He was still my father.”  
  
“I know,” Merlin says. “But he was also a hypocritical liar, like you said, who discriminated against the very people whose power he used to have a child.”  
  
“Me.”  
  
“Exactly,” he seizes onto the idea. “Do you really hate the people who are the reason why you exist?”  
  
“I'm not sure I don't hate the people who are the reason why my mother is dead.”  
  
“Your father is the reason why your mother is dead,” says Merlin firmly. “He knew what would happen to her, and he cared more about having an heir.”  
  
“He--”  
  
“And when he had to fulfill those terms to which he had previously agreed, he took out his rage and grief on an entire people,” he barrels forward. “He chose to villianize and hunt down and kill them for years, rather than take accountability for his actions.”  
  
“I can’t say I wouldn't have done the same.”  
  
“You wouldn't have,” Merlin says, knowing in his heart it’s true. “Arthur, you are a good and honorable man. You would not act out so childishly.”  
  
“If someone took y-someone I loved that much,” Arthur says evenly, “I could be liable to do just about anything.”  
  
Merlin pretends not to notice what Arthur almost said, like always, and merely states, “You are not that hateful, Arthur. You are not that sort of person. You certainly would not blame an entire group of innocent people for it.”  
  
“I don’t know what I’d do,” Arthur says, shaking his head.  
  
“But I do,” Merlin persists. Arthur meets his gaze then, and Merlin doesn’t flinch, looking steadily back. He knows Arthur can read everything in his heart, and that is all right. In this moment, that is allowed.  
  
Arthur sighs, looking away. “I just don’t think the people of Camelot are ready for that.”  
  
“They are, Arthur.”  
  
“They just lost their king.”  
  
“By your hand,” Merlin reminds him. “This looks bad, Arthur. You need to show them you did this for the right reasons, not just because you were hungry for power. You need to show them that you did it for real change.”  
  
“The people of Camelot have been trained to see those who practice magic as evil.”  
  
“You need to show them that’s not true.”  
  
“I’m not sure I disagree with them.”  
  
The statement hangs in the air between them, Arthur not looking at Merlin as Merlin does everything he can to remain composed. He takes a few steadying breaths, searches his mind for an answer to an impossible question, and finds it in his heart. Eyes closed, he says, “What if you knew someone with magic?”  
  
He doesn’t have to open his eyes to see the way Arthur freezes, then slowly turns to regard him. “Merlin,” Arthur says, voice careful and collected, “whatever you are about to say, do not say it.”  
  
“I have to,” Merlin says, shaking his head and opening his eyes. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Merlin,” says Arthur, eyes wide and pleading, “I am begging you: Do not—”  
  
“Forbarean,” Merlin whispers, turning around, hand outstretched, before he can rethink it and lose his mind. The fireplace lights up with flames. Merlin stands there, looking at them dance for a moment, then turns back around to face Arthur.  
  
Arthur has his eyes closed, face drawn. The silence that stretches between them is suffocating. Merlin can hear his heart beat in his ears. After two hundred and twenty beats, he finally says, “Arthur, I am so sorry, I just—”  
  
“Get out,” Arthur cuts him off, expression pained.  
  
“My lord, please—”  
  
“Get. Out,” Arthur repeats and opens his eyes. “ _Now_.”  
  
The look in Arthur’s eyes, the hatred Merlin sees there, is so foreign to him, so dangerous, that he leaves without another word.  
  
***  
  
Merlin doesn’t return until the next day, and only does so to fulfill his duties.  
  
Arthur is already awake, sitting at his desk, wearing the same clothes he wore the day before. Only now, they’re far more wrinkled.  
  
“Why are you wearing the clothes you wore yesterday?” Merlin inquires, thinking it will be the best ice-breaker.  
  
“I slept in them,” Arthur replies, not looking up from his papers.  
  
“Oh,” Merlin says dumbly. “Would you like me to help you change into new ones?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Arthur says evenly, leaning back in his chair and regarding Merlin. “Is there a magic way to do that?”  
  
Merlin sighs. “Arthur—”  
  
“Answer the question.”  
  
“Technically, sure,” Merlin answers. “But I wouldn’t do that. Not with you.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“I know you wouldn’t like it.”  
  
Arthur closes his eyes. “You’re right, I wouldn’t. But I want you to do it anyway.”  
  
“Why would you ask for something you don’t want?”  
  
Arthur rises from his chair and crosses over to where Merlin is, standing only a few feet in front of him. “Because I need to see it to believe it. So, go on.”  
  
Merlin looks doubtfully at Arthur, but Arthur looks determined and sure. At least, like he’s trying to be. So, Merlin starts to move towards the wardrobe to get the clothes, when Arthur stops him with a hand on his arm. “I know you don’t need to do that.”  
  
Merlin meets Arthur’s gaze and sets his jaw. With the arm that isn’t being held by Arthur, he stretches out a hand and wordlessly retrieves the clothes from the wardrobe. Once they are placed on a nearby chair at the dining table, he picks up the shirt without touching it and moves it to Arthur. Letting it dangle in the air beside him, Merlin divests Arthur of the tunic he is wearing, making Arthur shiver under his gaze. He tosses the tunic in the washing basin, then carefully guides the shirt over Arthur’s head. All this, Merlin does without taking a step.  
  
“Would you like me to do the rest?” he asks calmly, and Arthur shifts uncomfortably in his stance.  
  
Clearing his throat, he answers, “Er—no. No, that’s—sufficient. Thank you.”  
  
“My pleasure,” Merlin responds, not without a trace of irony.  
  
They stand there looking at each other, and for a moment, they’re not a king and a servant, nor a king and a sorcerer, but merely two men looking at each other. Each needing something the other isn’t sure he can provide.  
  
Finally, Arthur forces out, heartbroken, “You lied to me.”  
  
“What else was I supposed to do?” says Merlin. “If I told you the truth, you’d have told your father, and he’d have had my head.”  
  
“You really thought I would tell my father?” Arthur says, face scrunched up. “Seriously?”  
  
“I didn’t know what to think!” Merlin exclaims. “I was too afraid to even consider telling you. It was all so—complicated.”  
  
“And it isn’t now?”  
  
“It’s probably more complicated now, actually.”  
  
“So then why are you telling me now?”  
  
Merlin shrugs. “The time just—feels right.”  
  
Arthur sighs, shaking his head as he walks away from Merlin to sit back down at his desk. “Well, you’re certainly right about it being more complicated now.”  
  
“There’s a really easy way to uncomplicate it,” Merlin points out, walking over to stand at the edge of the desk.  
  
“Merlin, I wouldn’t even know where to begin with legalizing magic,” Arthur says, hands spread wide.  
  
“Which is why I’m here to help you!”  
  
“You’re my servant; you’re here to dress me and polish my armor and muck out my stables and keep quiet.”  
  
“Yeah, because that’s how this has always worked.”  
  
Arthur laughs and tries to hide it underneath his hand, but Merlin sees right through it. He always has. “Look,” Merlin says, coming around to the other side of the desk and standing beside Arthur’s chair, facing him. “I know this is hard for you. So, tell me what I can do to make it easier.”  
  
Arthur regards Merlin, sizing him up. Merlin has a brief flashback to his early days of working for Arthur, when he was still assessing whether Merlin was worth keeping around. Finally, Arthur speaks, haltingly, “I—I have this image of—magic—and…and those who use it. An image that—that doesn’t line up with you. And I don’t know—what to do about that.”  
  
“We’re not all evil.”  
  
“How am I supposed to believe you?”  
  
“Have I ever done anything to hurt you?”  
  
“More times than I can count.”  
  
“Arthur, _seriously_.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“And I never would. Arthur, I believe in you and the world you are building. And so do many others like me.”  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
“The Druids. They believe in you.”  
  
“The Druids have always been a peaceful people outside of Camelot’s reign; I’ve never had a problem with them.”  
  
“But they have magic. And yet you admit yourself that they are not evil.”  
  
“No,” Arthur concedes. “They’re not.”  
  
“So then why would everyone else with magic be evil?”  
  
Arthur considers this, looking like he’s attempting to work out the most complicated battle strategy he has ever had to devise. He stares off into the distance like this for a while, his tongue working the inside of his cheek. Finally, still looking into the distance, he says, “I don’t know.”  
  
Merlin wants to shake him, wants to shout at him that it doesn’t make sense, that the hatred he was raised with is not what is in his heart, that he is better than holding onto this for no reason other than fear, but he refrains. He knows fear can be a very powerful motivator.  
  
Instead, he says, “I know you’re scared. But I also know that you know what the right thing do is here. It’s why you killed Uther. You knew it then, and you know it now.”  
  
Slowly, Arthur nods. “I do.”  
  
Merlin almost can’t believe it. “You—wait, really?”  
  
“Yes. Really.”  
  
“I—Wait, so—what now?”  
  
“Now,” Arthur says, picking up his quill and a new stretch of parchment, “you are going to help me draw up a plan for bringing magic back to Camelot.”  
  
***  
  
The next five hours are a complete blur. Merlin barely has any time to be giddy, with the immense work he and Arthur have before them. They stop at some point to eat a brief lunch. Merlin doesn’t remember what it contains.  
  
After they have created scrapped draft after scrapped draft, the rolls of parchment falling off the desk, and are covered in ink stains, they finally emerge victorious with a workable plan.  
  
The first step will be to reintroduce basic magic—just small tricks and household tasks. This is meant to establish good will between those who have magic and those who don’t, proving to those who don’t that magic is not inherently evil, but a tool like anything else.  
  
While this new legislation is being implemented, everyone awaiting the death penalty for using magic will have their burnings postponed. The second step will be to free them all.  
For the third step, magical medical treatments will be reintroduced. This was one Merlin and Arthur went back and forth on for a while; Arthur thought this should be the first step, as it would best prove to non-magic-users the benefits of magic. But Merlin insisted on holding off, as seeing the power of magic so early-on could turn people off to it.  
  
Finally, all other forms of magic, aside from the dark arts, will be relegalized. Sorcerers and sorceresses may use their powers to their hearts’ contents, within moral limits, though there is one other stipulation: If a sorcerer or sorceress has knowledge of a use of magic that will cure the ill of a community or community member, that sorcerer or sorceress must step forward and offer help. (Arthur was pretty proud of coming up with that one. Merlin couldn’t help but smile at the way he was stepping into the role of king.)  
  
There is a private plan that goes along with the public one, though: The plan to make Arthur no longer fear magic.  
  
“I do not want to fear my own people,” Arthur explained. Then, he added, “Or you,” and shattered Merlin’s heart.  
  
“You’re afraid of me?”  
  
“A little,” Arthur admitted, and Merlin shut his eyes against it.  
  
“Okay,” he said, trying so hard not to show his hurt, trying to show Arthur he was grateful for his honesty. “Thank you for telling me that.”  
  
“But Merlin, don’t you see?” Arthur entreated him, leaning forward in his chair and placing his hands on Merlin’s knees, as Merlin sat in a chair beside him at the desk. “Look at me.” Merlin did. Eyes impossibly blue and disarmingly honest, Arthur declared, “I don’t want to be afraid of you.”  
  
And that did help, some. Enough that Merlin was able to give a weak smile and nod, then help Arthur come up with a plan to let go of his old fear and hatred.  
  
They’ll start with the small tricks. Then move to Merlin using his magic to help with his daily servant tasks, with Arthur watching. After that, Merlin will show Arthur the more extreme uses of his magic—nothing evil or that dangerous, just enough to show the true force of it. And at the end of every day, they will check in with how Arthur is feeling.  
  
They have dinner, and afterwards, start preparing the speech Arthur will give the next day, telling the people of the first step of the reimplementation of magic. As they quibble over words, they fall into their usual rapport, and Merlin’s heart soars.  
  
***  
  
“Nice speech,” Merlin remarks as he helps Arthur into his armor for training, because even as the very fabric of the kingdom shifts, some things will never change, training being among them.  
  
“Yeah,” Arthur replies as Merlin tightens the left shoulder strap. “Thanks for writing it.”  
  
Merlin huffs out a small laugh, and doesn’t miss Arthur’s small smile in response.  
  
“So, what’s on the table for tonight?”  
  
“What do you mean?” Merlin asks, moving to tighten the right shoulder strap. “What’s tonight?”  
  
“The first night of me learning not to fear magic,” Arthur answers as if it’s obvious. Then, for good measure, he adds, “Obviously.”  
  
Merlin freezes mid-tightening. “T-tonight?”  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry, did you have plans?” Arthur rolls his eyes.  
  
“Well, I just didn’t realize you’d want to start so soon!” Merlin finishes tightening the strap, regrouping.  
  
“The sooner I get over this,” Arthur says, turning around and facing Merlin, “the better.”  
  
“But no pressure, right?”  
  
“ _Merlin_.”  
  
“I’m kidding!”  
  
“And I’m being serious!”  
  
“Well, whose fault is that?”  
  
“Yours, like everything else.”  
  
Merlin laughs, _really_ laughs, throwing his head back with it and outright guffawing, for the first time in days. Arthur follows suit, and like this, they’re encased in a bright bubble of warmth.  
  
Then, there’s a knock on the door, followed by Leon’s voice saying, “Sire, the men are ready for training whenever you are.”  
  
Arthur immediately straightens up, suddenly looking unspeakably regal and in control. Merlin’s heart jumps. “Thank you, Leon,” he calls back. “I’ll be right there.” The sound of footsteps getting softer, and then Arthur turns his authoritative gaze to Merlin. “Right, then. Let’s go.”  
  
Merlin nods stiffly, watching as Arthur turns around and walks confidently to the door. For a moment, Merlin just watches, the breath gone out of him. Then, Arthur turns at the door and raises his eyebrows. “Coming, Merlin?”  
  
“Yes!” Merlin jumps to attention and picks up the sack of training equipment. He nods resolutely. “Let’s go.”  
  
Arthur smirks at him, shakes his head, and departs. Merlin desperately tries not to envision Arthur smirking like that in a very different scenario. He succeeds.  
  
(Later—much later—that night, he fails.)  
  
***  
  
“Are you ready?”  
  
Arthur nods, staring at Merlin intently.  
  
Merlin stretches out a hand to the fire, murmurs a spell, and constructs designs from the sparks shooting from the flames. Dragons, flowers, horses, beds, clouds. Anything that tickles his fancy. He lets his imagination take control, even bending the sparks into shapes he has no names for.  
  
Arthur watches it all urgently, looking torn between being delighted and being horrified. The firelight is reflected in his pupils, and Merlin remembers watching fire do the same thing at the shrine-burning. Only now, Arthur has the ghost of a smile on his lips, and there are no tears.  
  
Merlin counts that as a win, and keeps creating designs until Arthur’s yawns become impossible to ignore. Arthur doesn’t want to stop, wants to keep watching, but Merlin refuses. “You’re king now, Arthur. You need your rest.”  
  
Arthur sighs and relents, “ _Fine_.”  
  
He climbs into bed while Merlin closes all the curtains. Once that’s done, Merlin sets to blowing out the candles, and Arthur watches him closely. When finished, Merlin stands at the side of Arthur’s bed that’s closest to the door.  
  
“How are you feeling, my lord?”  
  
“Good.” Arthur nods. “I’m feeling good.”  
  
“Any less afraid?”  
  
“I’m not sure,” he admits, brow furrowed. Then, he brightens and grins. “But I do know I like that trick.”  
  
Merlin smiles back. “Me, too. Do you require anything else for the evening?”  
  
Arthur shakes his head. “No, I’m—taken care of.”  
  
Merlin nods, still smiling. “Then, goodnight, sire.”  
  
“Goodnight, Merlin,” Arthur replies. Merlin blows out the last candle by the bedside, makes his way to the door, and blows out the final candle in the room there before leaving. He feels Arthur’s eyes on him the whole time.  
  
***  
The royal dinner table has gotten smaller, and it was never particularly large to begin with. But Uther had that imposing presence that made it seem like he filled the space, and all the awkward pauses in conversations. His loss is greater than anyone had considered, in this way, at least.  
  
Now, Arthur sits at the head of the table.  
  
“How was your day?” Arthur asks Morgana, and Merlin has a flashback to times when Arthur was sullen at the dinner table, and Uther tried to coax responses out of him.  
  
“Good,” Morgana answers stiffly, as Merlin refills Arthur’s water cup. He watches Morgana carefully, realizing that she is no longer the king’s ward. Which begs the question: What exactly is she now? Will she remain in the court? Will she be sent away to another kingdom? Will she be given new living arrangements on a different estate?  
  
Merlin thought Morgana would be joyous when Uther died, ready to dance and sing. But now, she sits quietly at her place, looking morosely down at her plate and neglecting to touch anything on it. It’s odd. Merlin knows she hated him. But here she is, looking as if she has just lost the dearest person in her life.  
  
Arthur takes a long gulp of water, and Merlin refills his cup again. Arthur looks at Morgana, mouth a thin line, as if pondering his next move in a battle.  
  
Merlin moves to Morgana’s side of the table, in order to refill her glass, but Morgana stops him and says, “Oh no, Merlin. Don’t worry; I’ve got it.” With that, she flicks her hand, her eyes glowing golden, as she levitates the water jug out of Merlin’s hand, tips it over her glass, pouring more water into it, and levitates the jug back to Merlin.  
  
Merlin is too shocked to do anything more than stand there, wondering what the hell has come over Morgana. He casts a glance at Arthur, who has gone exceptionally pale. He opens and closes his mouth a few times like a fish, and Merlin dreads whatever he’s about to say. Finally, the words come out, “So—not that bad, then?”  
  
Merlin feels the breath leave him in whoosh of relief as Morgana smiles, _genuinely_ smiles, for the first time in days. “Yes,” she confirms. “Not that bad at all.”  
  
Arthur smiles and nods back, the slightest bit of hesitation in it, and they return to eating. No other words pass between them for the rest of the meal, but it doesn’t feel the way it did before. It feels like maybe, they can all get through this.  
  
***  
  
Before going to Arthur’s chambers that night, Merlin stops at Morgana’s. Gwen opens the door and smiles at him. “Merlin, hey. How are you?”  
  
“Good,” Merlin replies, smiling back at Gwen. “How are you?”  
  
“’M great,” Gwen answers, and looks back at Morgana, who is brushing her hair in front of her mirror. “I’m really great.”  
  
Merlin smiles to himself, happy that Gwen and Morgana have found the small pleasures Merlin and Arthur have never allowed themselves to have. “I’m glad,” he states. “Um—I was wondering if I could talk to Morgana for a minute?”  
  
“Of course,” Gwen says, looking back at him. “I was just going to ch—leave for the night,” she says, catching herself just a little too late. Then, she turns back to Morgana and makes a big show of curtsying, saying, “Good evening, m’lady.”  
  
“Goodnight, Gwen,” Morgana says fondly, smiling at her. “See you in the morning.”  
  
Gwen nods, smiling back, then gives Merlin a parting smile as she exits the room.  
  
Morgana sets her hairbrush down on her vanity. “What is it, Merlin?”  
  
“Why did you do it?” Merlin asks helplessly. “You knew the risks. Why would you tell him?”  
  
“There are no risks anymore,” Morgana says breezily, waving a hand. “Magic is legal now. Well—at least, at the household level.”  
  
“I meant the _personal_ risks,” Merlin clarifies. “You risked losing Arthur’s trust. Hell, you may have done that without him letting you know!”  
  
Morgana shrugs. “It was a risk I was willing to take.”  
  
“But _why_?” Merlin badgers, feeling like a three-year-old. “Why now, after hiding it for so long?”  
  
“I suppose I could ask you the same,” Morgana replies steadily, standing up and walking over to her washing basin.  
  
Merlin freezes, watching as Morgana dips her hands in the basin and spreads the water around her face. “You—you could what?”  
  
“You heard me,” Morgana says casually, grabbing a towel and patting her face with it. “Why did you tell him _now_ , after waiting so long?”  
  
“I—I don’t know what you’re—”  
  
“I know you told him,” Morgana says squarely, drying her hands on the towel. “That’s why he’s doing all this.” She tosses a hand in the air, seemingly including the whole of their world in “all this.”  
  
“He’s not—he’s not doing this for _me_ ,” Merlin denies incredulously.  
  
Morgana rolls her eyes. “Right.” She tosses the towel in the laundry basin. “Of course not.”  
  
“He’s _not_ ,” Merlin insists. “He _wouldn’t_.”  
  
“Whatever you say, Merlin,” Morgana says with another eye-roll, sitting down on her bed.  
  
“He’s doing this because it’s the right thing to do!” Merlin argues. “Because he wants to. Because he doesn’t want to be an oppressive king.”  
  
“Mm, yes, of course,” Morgana says, taking her bracelets off her wrists and placing them on her bedside table.  
  
“I’m serious!”  
  
“So am I,” she says, pushing back her covers and settling into bed. “I’m sure you’re right about how he believes in equal rights and all that. But I’m also sure I’m right that he never would have acted on any of it, if it hadn’t been for who you are.”  
  
Merlin can’t think of anything to say, so he doesn’t say anything, choosing to just stand there dumbly.  
  
Morgana sighs, as if Merlin is too naïve for his own good. “Look,” she says, pulling her covers up to her chest. “I told him because I’d spent so long waiting, and I was tired of it. And the time finally felt right. Even if he feels he can’t trust me anymore, it’s worth the loss to be myself. Can’t you relate?”  
  
“Yes,” Merlin answers, against his will. “Yes, I can.”  
  
Morgana offers him a small smile. “Goodnight, Merlin.”  
  
“Goodnight,” Merlin says, returning the smile and heading for the door. Pausing there, he turns back. “Do you want me to get the candles?”  
  
“Oh, I think I’ve got it covered,” Morgana says conspiratorially, and Merlin can’t help but laugh.  
  
“Right, of course.”  
  
With that, he leaves, and pretends not to notice Gwen in her sleep-clothes, hiding in an alcove by the door, waiting for him to depart before she reenters Morgana’s chambers.  
  
***  
  
“So um,” Merlin says, standing by the fireplace in Arthur’s chambers, unsure of where to be and feeling out-of-place. “How are you, after—that?”  
  
Arthur sits back in his chair at the head of the dining table and sighs. “I’ve been better, I’ll admit.”  
  
Merlin nods. “That’s fair.”  
  
Silence, then Arthur elaborates, “It’s just a lot at once, you know? You, and then her. I’m wondering who else in this castle has magic that I don’t know about.”  
  
“What if there was?”  
  
“Then I’d have to deal with it,” Arthur says on another sigh. “After all, it’s legal now. Partly, anyways.”  
  
“But would you be—okay with them?” Merlin checks.  
  
“I don’t know,” Arthur answers. “I’m conflicted on Morgana. Hell, I’m even still conflicted on you. I imagine I would be for anyone else.”  
  
Merlin is disappointed, but unsurprised; he can’t expect Arthur to move that quickly. “Right, then,” he says, hating the sound of the false cheer in his voice. “Let’s work on making you less conflicted, then, shall we?”  
  
And they do. That night, Merlin shows Arthur how he can juggle using magic. The next night, he shows him how he can pick flowers out of thin air. He shows Arthur all kinds of tricks and fun spells, and once the stutter in Arthur’s movements goes away, delight always overtakes the king’s features. One day, he takes Arthur to a meadow to show him how he can change the shapes of the clouds to his will.  
  
“That’s sort of like the fire,” Arthur comments. “From before.”  
  
“Yeah,” Merlin says, grinning. “I guess it is.”  
  
When Arthur’s had enough, Merlin stops and sits beside him. They’re surrounded by lilacs, the sky is clear, and for once, Merlin feels truly at peace. He leans back, his hands behind him in the grass, and lets the sun shine on his face.  
  
“Thank you,” Arthur interrupts his silent reverie. “For—showing me all this.”  
  
Merlin opens his eyes, which he hadn’t realized were closed, and looks at Arthur, who actually appears to be vulnerable. Merlin nods in response. “Of course, my lord. It’s—my pleasure.”  
  
“What you can do is—incredible,” Arthur says firmly, looking out at the meadow. Then, he adds, looking down at his lap, “I just wish I wasn’t so afraid of it.”  
  
“Hey.” Merlin places a hand on Arthur’s forearm, and another under his chin, moving his head slightly so Arthur is forced to look at him. “It takes a long time. But you will get there. I know you will.”  
  
“What if I never do?”  
  
“You _will_. I will make sure of it,” Merlin asserts, placing his hands on Arthur’s cheeks. “You are _born_ of this, Arthur. If you fear magic, you fear yourself. And I don’t want that for you.”  
  
“Me, neither.”  
  
Merlin takes Arthur in. He takes in the swoop of Arthur’s blond hair, the bright blue of his lips, the fullness of his red, red lips—  
  
He realizes the position they are in, and how it would look if someone were to happen upon them, and swiftly removes his hands from Arthur’s face. He coughs, then says, “Right, then. Glad we’re on the same page.”  
  
And if Arthur sounds disappointed when he agrees, Merlin pretends not to hear it.  
  
***  
  
When Merlin enters Arthur’s chambers one morning, Arthur is already up, standing by the window in his bed-clothes, looking out.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Merlin immediately asks. Yesterday, Arthur announced the second part of the reimplementation plan: Freeing all prisoners who have been held for benign magic. Merlin assumes he’s having second thoughts about it now, simply because it is such a major shift in policy.  
  
“Do you know what day it is?” Arthur says in response, still staring out the window.  
  
“Um—Tuesday?” Merlin answers, unable to think of anything else.  
  
Judging by the way Arthur closes his eyes, Merlin figures he’s guessed wrong. Solemnly, Arthur declares, “It is May the twentieth.”  
  
For a second, Merlin doesn’t get the importance of that date. Then, it crashes into him all at once, and he hates himself. Of course. Of fucking course. “Your father’s birthday.”  
  
Arthur doesn’t reply.  
  
“You’re allowed to miss him.”  
  
“I don’t.”  
  
“ _Arthur_ ,” Merlin insists, “it’s all right to miss him. You’re not hurting anyone with that.”  
  
“He died two weeks ago,” Arthur says, sounding strangely detached, “by my hand. Two days after that, I announced the reintroduction of magic into the kingdom he furiously fought to eradicate it from. I spread his image as one of an unjust, discriminatory tyrant who had to die for the sake of the kingdom. Yesterday, I doubled down on all of that.” Arthur closes his eyes. “I am the worst son alive.”  
  
“Hey, that’s _not_ true,” asserts Merlin, while moving to Arthur’s side.  
  
“Yes, it is.”  
  
“ _No_ , it’s _not_ ,” Merlin argues, placing a hand on Arthur’s arm. Arthur just continues to stand with his eyes closed, looking pained. “You don’t really hate him, do you?”  
  
“No,” Arthur replies, then sighs. “And yes. It’s—complicated.”  
  
“Of course it is,” Merlin says sympathetically.  
  
“I just—I get the old memories I have of him, the ones where he raised me and taught me right from wrong,” Arthur explains. “I have those, and then I have the new ones, where he was so hell-bent on revenge and hatred, that he couldn’t see past that. And I don’t know how to reconcile those two images, so they just end up getting mixed up in my mind.”  
  
“Right.” Merlin nods. “That makes sense.”  
  
Arthur opens his eyes, shaking his head at himself. “I just feel like I’m disappointing him with every move I make now.”  
  
“Arthur, you get to decide for yourself what sort of king you want to be,” Merlin declares. “That is not for your father to command from the grave.”  
  
“But—”  
  
“Look at how much happier your people are now!” he continues, refusing Arthur the chance to refute. “They love seeing all the sorcerers in the streets with their tricks. And I’ve heard that people without magic are even asking for housework help from those _with_ magic. That sort of community good-will was _never_ possible under Uther’s reign. I know you loved him, but you’re already a better king than he ever was. And if he’d be disappointed in you for all this, that’s more a reflection of him than it is of you.”  
  
Arthur smiles gratefully at Merlin. “Thank you.” Then, he looks down at where Merlin is still holding his arm. Before Merlin can yank his hand away, Arthur places his own hand on top of it. Looking back up at Merlin, he says, “Old friend.”  
  
Merlin’s heart climbs into his throat, as the true meaning of the words hits him. His mouth is as dry as noble ladies keep their leather, and he tries so hard, _so hard,_ to think of something, _anything_ , acceptable to say, but only unacceptable phrases fill his mind, and—  
  
“My lord,” a guard calls from the other side of the chamber doors. “The council meeting is about to begin.”  
  
Arthur sighs, mutters a brief curse, and calls back, “Coming!” Then, he looks back at Merlin. “Well. Let’s hope you’ve learned something from these years in my service. I need to be dressed and downstairs in five minutes. ‘Think you can arrange that?”  
  
Merlin sees the spark of a challenge in Arthur’s eyes, and tamps down the smile at the corners of his own mouth. “Yes, sire,” he answers, “I believe I can.”  
  
***  
  
The third part of the plan, medical treatments, after brief trepidation, is very well-received by the people. In the town, Merlin knows that many people have had their pain eased, and illnesses have been healed with much more ease. People have even be able to heal diseases that previously were fatal. And word has reached the castle from scouts that the treatments have been greatly appreciated in the villages, as well.  
  
Overall, morale in the kingdom is good, and that has transferred to the knights. Merlin can hear them laughing and joking around together behind him and Arthur, who lead the men on a patrol. (Well, Arthur leads, and Merlin rides beside him.) Someone stole someone else’s shoe, or something to that effect, and based on what Merlin’s been able to pick up, it’s all part of sort of hazing.  
  
“How are you today, Merlin?” Arthur inquires, and Merlin honestly almost falls off his horse. The question is so out-of-the-blue, and asked with such care, it stuns him.  
  
“I’m—good,” he answers honestly. “Quite good, my lord.”  
  
Arthur nods. “Good.”  
  
“And—you?”  
  
“I’m also good.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
Silence.  
  
Then, Arthur takes a breath, about to say something more, and is promptly cut-off by the shout of one of his men crying out in pain.  
  
Both he and Merlin stop their horses and spin around, taking in the sight of a young knight clutching his arm, where an arrow is sticking out of it.  
  
“Take cover!” Arthur commands, jumping off his horse. Merlin follows suit, and Arthur drags him to a spot behind a tree with a thick trunk. All the men do the same, readying their crossbows to shoot.  
  
Merlin watches as Arthur calls out orders to his men, who carry them out. They shoot crossbows, and when the Saxons continue to advance, on Arthur’s call, pull out their swords and run towards them. Merlin watches carefully from his spot behind the tree. When he sees one of them about to get Arthur, he flicks his wrist and mutters a spell, and suddenly a tree branch falls on that one. Or that one trips, and Arthur knocks him out. The whole time, Merlin maintains his focus on keeping Arthur safe. He knows he hasn’t cleared this use of his magic with Arthur, but he figures Arthur will be all right with Merlin saving his life.  
  
By the end of it, the Saxons have retreated, and the Knights and Merlin are left to pick up the mess. At his first glance, they have sustained no serious injuries. Then, a moan is heard, and they all look over to see the young knight face-down on the ground.  
  
They all rush over to him and turn him over on his back. The same one who took the first hit. The same one who was complaining about someone stealing his shoes. The same one who was knighted a week ago. He’s taken a second hit, to his stomach, by a mace, from the looks of it. He is losing a lot of blood. Merlin looks over at Arthur, and watches his heart break.  
  
“Hey,” Leon is saying, already crouched down beside the knight, clutching his hand. “Hey, it’s going to be all right. Relax. It’s going to be all right. Relax.”  
  
Leon’s said it dozens of times to dozens of young knights; it’s his death-speech. Soon, he will ask the knight if there’s anything he wants them to leave to or tell his family. Leon has already accepted the loss; they all have. Except Merlin.  
  
“Arthur,” he says urgently, pulling him aside. “I can save him.”  
  
Arthur’s eyes go wide. “With—”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
A moment’s hesitation. Then, Arthur looks over at the knight dying on the ground, and something shifts in his expression. He turns back to Merlin, jaw set. “Do it.”  
  
Merlin nods, and dashes to grab his bag, hanging off his horse. He then races to kneel at the young knight’s side, the side where Leon isn’t kneeling. “I’m going to save you,” he tells the knight, “but I can only do it if you consent to me using magic to do it. Do you consent?”  
  
The young knight nods urgently, blinking back tears. Merlin goes into his bag and pulls out a salve, unscrews the vial, tips the salve into his palm, and rubs it over the knight’s stomach. While he does so, he asks, “What is your name?”  
  
“Philip,” the man answers.  
  
“Nice to meet you, Philip,” Merlin says, focusing on the salve. “I’m Merlin.”  
  
“I know,” Philip replies, breathing heavily. “You’re the king’s manservant.”  
  
“Yes,” Merlin confirms, “I am.”  
  
“And you’re a sorcerer.”  
  
“Yes,” he repeats, “I am.”  
  
Philip nods and swallows. Merlin doesn’t meet Leon’s eyes, which he knows are on him. He doesn’t dare look back at Arthur, whose warmth he can feel just over his shoulder.  
  
Once the salve sufficiently covers the wound, Merlin places his hands on the spot and murmurs the spell. It is long, and the words spill from his lips easily, as if he was born knowing them. As he speaks, the wound grows warm, then cold, and lights up with blue sparks. The sparks turn red, and then finally gold, and the wound patches itself up. Merlin keeps his hands on Philip’s stomach for a moment longer, eyes closed, and feels the density there, the blood restored in his veins. He smiles to himself, and removes his hands.  
  
“Done,” he says, looking at Philip. “How do you feel?”  
  
“Amazing,” Philip says, staring at Merlin with awe. “I feel completely better.”  
  
Merlin grins. “Glad to hear it.”  
  
Philip nods in response. “Me, too.” Then, he winces, rubbing his arm, where the arrow is still lodged. “Well, not _completely_ better.”  
  
The knights laugh, and Leon states, “Well, we don’t need magic for that one.”  
  
Merlin laughs along with them, and sets to work on the arrow-wound. Arthur tells the men to ready the horses for the rest of the patrol.  
  
Later, when they’re riding back, after an unbearable silence, Arthur finally says to Merlin, “You were right.”  
  
“About what?” Merlin inquires, keeping his eyes facing forward.  
  
“Enacting the medical treatments later,” Arthur clarifies, also facing forward. “Seeing that power so early-on would have scared the people too much.”  
  
Merlin says nothing.  
  
***  
  
“Gaius told me something interesting today.”  
  
“Oh?” Merlin says, pouring warm water into the washing basin as Arthur undresses behind the screen. “And what was that?”  
  
“That you are not just a sorcerer,” Arthur says casually, stepping out from behind the screen, and Merlin quickly looks away. “But rather, the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth.”  
  
Merlin clears his throat. He should have told Gaius not to tell Arthur that, but he hadn’t even considered it as a possibility, with everything that’s been happening.  
  
“Is it true?” Arthur asks, making no move towards the bath.  
  
“I—yes,” Merlin answers, seeing no point in lying about it now. “It’s true.”  
  
Arthur nods, lips pursed. “So what exactly does that entail?”  
“Gaius didn’t tell you?”  
  
“I want to hear it from you.”  
  
Merlin sighs. “I have the greatest powers of any sorcerer or sorceress, ever. I can do things no one has ever been able to do before.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“I’ll show you sometime.”  
  
Arthur nods, lips still pursed. Then, they smooth into a straight line. “Were you ever going to tell me?”  
  
“Yes,” says Merlin honestly. “When you were ready to know.”  
  
Arthur scoffs. “Are there any other secrets you’re not telling me?”  
  
“Nothing leaps to mind,” Merlin claims, and then winces. “Wait—there is something.”  
  
“What,” says Arthur through gritted teeth, “is it?”  
  
“Well—there’s this, um…prophecy,” Merlin starts. Really, Arthur should probably be dressed for this conversation, but he doesn’t want to bring attention to the fact that Arthur isn’t dressed, and so he accepts the current state of affairs. “According to it, you are destined to unite the lands of Albion. And I’m destined to help you do it.”  
  
Arthur looks at him then, as if seeing him for the first time. “Is that so?”  
  
“So the prophecy says.”  
  
“Wow,” Arthur remarks, letting out a long breath. “That’s…a lot.”  
  
“But you can do it,” Merlin tells him. “It’s your destiny.”  
  
“ _Our_ destiny,” Arthur corrects.  
  
“Yes,” agrees Merlin. “Our destiny.”  
  
The weight of everything they are destined, expected, and meant to do sits between them. Merlin finds it hard to catch his breath. Arthur being stark naked isn’t helping, either. In an effort to return to some semblance of normalcy, Merlin requests, voice strained, “Why don’t you get in the bath, my lord?”  
  
“No,” Arthur responds, advancing on Merlin, until they are nearly standing nose-to-nose.  
  
_He knows_ , Merlin thinks. _He knows, and I know he knows, and he knows I know he knows._  
  
“In the future,” Arthur says at length, in that royal, authoritative drawl of his, “you will tell me such pertinent information as soon as you know it. Understood?”  
  
Merlin nods shortly, not trusting his voice, fearing it will reveal his thoughts, which are along the lines of, _God, throw me down on the bed. Pin me down. Slide your cock inside me. Make me moan with it_. _Take me, take me_ , take me.  
  
“Good.” Arthur nods. “I’m glad we’ve reached this understanding.”  
  
With that, he strolls over to the basin and settles in. He winces. “The water’s gone cold. Would you…?”  
  
“Of course.” Merlin snaps to attention, dragging his thoughts away from images of writhing bodies and sweat. He makes his way over to the basin, stretches a hand, and warms the water wordlessly. Arthur sighs, settling back into the warmth.  
  
That night, Merlin resists the urge to have a wank, just to not give Arthur the satisfaction. Somehow, he feels like Arthur would know, and feel utterly smug about it. So, Merlin resists. But only barely.  
  
***  
  
“Here’s good,” Merlin declares, pulling the reigns on his horse and coming to a halt. He dismounts, and Arthur does the same.  
  
The field surrounding them is vast and unspeakably green. Towering, leafy trees surround the clearing. Birds chirp lightly from high in the branches, and flowers bloom in bushes.  
  
“Spring is here,” Arthur comments, taking in the view.  
  
“’Been here for a while,” Merlin points out, looking up at the blue sky. White clouds dot it, and partly hide the sun.  
  
“It’s my favorite season,” Arthur stalls.  
  
“It’s everyone’s favorite season,” Merlin counters, and looks at Arthur. “Are you ready?”  
  
Arthur takes a deep breath, and his face becomes drawn. Squaring his shoulders, he asserts, “Yes.”  
  
“Right, then.” Merlin nods. “Stand back.” Arthur takes a few steps back. “And—don’t interrupt.”  
  
Arthur nods obediently. Merlin would make a joke about that, but the situation doesn’t call for it in the least. Instead, he looks up at the sky. Then, he closes his eyes, puts his head down, and reaches deep inside himself. It takes a long moment, and then he finally touches the source of his magic, feels the immense power there, sitting inside him. Waiting, always waiting, to be released.  
  
Pulling sharply on the threads of his magic, Merlin snaps his head and hand upwards, wordlessly calling down a storm. The weather instantaneously complies, the clouds darkening and coming together, and immediately releasing the fury of the heavens. The rain is hard and unrelenting, hitting Merlin’s skin like pellets. Lightning casts horrifying, distorting light onto the earth, and thunder cracks with almighty strength.  
  
It’s not enough. “More!” Merlin shouts over the thunder, and the storm intensifies. The rain starts to fall sideways. The lightning strikes come one after the other, the thunder claps following close behind. The wind picks up.  
  
“MORE!” he orders, and the storm gets even worse. The light becomes blinding, the thunder claps deafening. The wind whirls around them, making the rain spiral in ways it isn’t meant to. The rain feels like it can break through Merlin’s clothes.  
  
The power of his magic flows through him, fierce and strong and wild. His magic starts to take control of him, and he lets it happen, lets himself give into this thing he never otherwise lets himself feel—  
  
The feeling of Arthur’s hands on his shoulders is shocking.  
  
“MERLIN!” Arthur shouts over the storm. “MERLIN, COME BACK TO ME!”  
  
Merlin blinks, and suddenly he can see Arthur before him, soaking wet and looking at him like he’s some sort of wild animal. Merlin looks up at the sky, around them at the rain falling like sleet. He blinks again, and the storm fades. The sun returns, and the clouds become white again, and the sky is blue once more.  
  
Merlin looks at Arthur again, who is looking back at him with fear, and can hear the sound of birds cautiously chirping. Then, the world sways, and falls into darkness, the last thing he hears being Arthur’s cry of, “ _Merlin_!”  
  
***  
  
He wakes up in a comfortable bed, one more comfortable than any bed he has ever slept in. (Granted, he’s slept in one bed, in Camelot, and before that, on the floor.) The pillows beneath his head are soft, fluffy, and numerous. The sheets are silky and smooth. For a moment, Merlin just lies there, looking up at the red canopy above him.  
  
“How are you feeling?”  
  
Arthur’s voice isn’t a surprise; obviously, he’s in Arthur’s bed. The question is why.  
  
“I’m—tired,” Merlin answers, looking over at where Arthur stands at the bedside. “What happened?”  
  
“You fainted,” Arthur informs him bluntly. “After conjuring the storm of the century.”  
  
Merlin has a flashback to the storm, sees it in his mind’s eye, remembers how the thunder had swelled inside him with his magic, how he’d lost control and let the magic take the lead. How he’d endangered Arthur.  
  
“Arthur, I’m so sorry—”  
  
“Don’t be,” Arthur waves his apology away. “I wanted to see it. I asked you to show me the true depth of your powers, and you did. I’m fine. But are _you_?”  
  
“Just tired,” says Merlin. “Doing that sort of thing—takes a lot out of me.”  
  
“Well, I can see that,” Arthur replies with a slight smirk as he joins Merlin on the bed. “Here, let me check your head for bumps. You didn’t hit the ground, but I just want to be sure.”  
  
“Why didn’t I hit the ground?”  
  
“I was holding your shoulders.” Arthur is feeling all around Merlin’s skulls, pressing his fingers down, on the hunt. “I kept you from falling backwards, and then I just put you on the back of my horse for the ride back.”  
  
“Got it,” Merlin says quietly. Arthur is sitting so close to him, he can feel the warmth radiating off his body, can count his eyelashes, if he wanted to. And the feeling of Arthur’s hands on him, even like this—God.  
  
Arthur seems to register how close their faces are, for he quickly pulls back, clearing his throat and saying, “You’re good.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“No problem; standard check.”  
  
“No, I mean—thank you,” Merlin clarifies, “for what you did back there. And—bringing me back in one piece.”  
  
“Well, I had to,” says Arthur mock-haughtily. “What would I do without my manservant?”  
  
Merlin gives a short laugh, but can’t do much more, the exhaustion in his bones deep and restrictive. Quite suddenly, he realizes his clothes are wet. “Eugh.”  
  
“I know,” Arthur replies tiredly, reading Merlin’s mind. “I wanted to get you out of the wet clothes, but I also didn’t want to—well, you know. So. I just left you like that, for now. If you want, I can help you—”  
  
“’S fine,” Merlin cuts him off. “I’ve got it.” He snaps his fingers, and a short wind immediately dries him, his clothes, and the sheets and pillows around him.  
  
Arthur shakes his head in awe. “That never gets less amazing, you know.”  
  
Merlin snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure what you saw back there was pretty ‘amazing.’”  
  
“It was—a lot.”  
  
“I know, it’s—  
  
“Beautiful,” Arthur finishes the sentences, and Merlin blinks.  
  
“What?” he asks, brow furrowed.  
  
“Beautiful,” Arthur repeats. “Absolutely beautiful.”  
  
“I was going to say ‘terrifying.’”  
  
Arthur sighs. “I mean—it was a little ‘terrifying’ at the time,” he confesses, looking down at the bedsheets. Looking back up at Merlin, he says, “But it was also the most incredible, amazing, beautiful thing I have ever seen.”  
  
Merlin has no idea what to say. He never thought, never even _imagined_ that Arthur would ever call his magic “beautiful” or act like it was something reverent to behold.  
  
“I’m—glad you enjoyed the show,” he gets out, staring at Arthur in awe and confusion.  
  
“I’m glad you put it on for me,” Arthur responds easily, settling back against the pillows, so he’s lying beside Merlin. “It was—enlightening.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“To know how much you’ve been hiding your true self,” he answers, looking steadily at Merlin. “How much there’s been to hide. I can’t imagine living with all that churning inside me, and never letting it out.”  
  
“Well, I really can’t let it out that often,” Merlin points out. “Even though it is legal now. It’s not really—safe.”  
  
“Right, yeah, of course,” Arthur rushes to say. “I just mean—This is such a big part of who you are. And you’ve had to hide it for so long.”  
  
“Yeah,” Merlin says, voice smaller than he would like.  
  
Arthur sighs. “Why did you lie to me?” he inquires, turning those heartstopping blue eyes on Merlin. “Really? I know you didn’t think I’d tell my father. Maybe in the beginning, but…later on, you knew.”  
  
“I did,” Merlin confesses, looking down at his hands.  
  
“So then _why_?” Arthur asks again. “Merlin, _please_. The truth.”  
  
Still looking at his hands, Merlin says out loud for the first time, “I was afraid of things changing between us. Once you—found out about it. And the lying.”  
  
Arthur sighs and admonishes, “ _Merlin_. That was…stupid.”  
  
“Was it?” Merlin pushes back. “Things _have_ changed between us.”  
  
“Yes, of course they have!” Arthur exclaims. “But you shouldn’t have let that keep you from telling the truth.”  
  
The statement hangs in the air between them, neither one of them knowing what to do with it. Arthur lets it hang there for a moment, then continues, “I just hate to think that you’ve been hurting all this time. I wish I could un-do it all.”  
  
“Thank you,” says Merlin, nodding. “That—means a great deal.”  
  
Arthur gives him a small smile, and says nothing. Morgana’s words float back to Merlin, and he has to ask, he _has_ to know. Clearing his throat, he prepares himself, and then asks, “You didn’t…do all this for me, right?”  
  
“All what?”  
  
“Making magic legal again?”  
  
Arthur blinks. “I—no. No, of course not. What sort of king would I be to make a decision based on the needs of one civilian? And a servant, no less. Of course it wasn’t for you.”  
  
“Then why?” Merlin presses. “Why did you do it?”  
  
Arthur sighs again. “I’ve always felt in my heart that discriminating against people for something they didn’t choose and can’t change is wrong. And once I learned my father was a hypocrite who used magic’s powers himself before criminalizing it, I couldn’t ignore the truth anymore. But I…I don’t know if I ever would have acted on those feelings, if you hadn’t told me about you.”  
  
“Why was I what made the difference?” Merlin knows why, but he wants to hear Arthur say it.  
  
Simply, Arthur answers, “Because I never want to be the cause of any pain for you.”  
  
“Me, neither.” Merlin’s said it before he’s realized he’s thought it. But what’s it matter that he’s said it; it’s obvious it’s true. For both of them.  
  
Arthur smiles at him, and Merlin wants so badly to kiss him.  
  
Then, Arthur looks away. “It has been hard for me. These past months.”  
  
“I know,” Merlin assures him. “And I’m so grateful you’ve chosen to do what’s right, even though it scared you.”  
  
“It still scares me,” Arthur says quietly. “More than I would like.”  
  
“Do I scare you?”  
  
Arthur looks at him for a while, eyes taking in all of Merlin’s features, until he finally settles on, “No. Not really. Not right now, at least.”  
  
Merlin nods. “And what about—this?” He snaps his fingers, and a soft golden light appears, dancing just above his hand. For a moment, Merlin feels a twinge in his heart, remembering Freya. But when he sees the sheer joy in Arthur’s eyes as the light reflect there, he forgets about everything else.  
  
“Scared?” Merlin checks. Arthur shakes his head, staring at the light with utter admiration. Merlin chuckles. “Good.” Arthur looks up at that, his gaze catching Merlin’s. Merlin’s breath hitches, and he almost looks away. But he doesn’t want to stop looking at the shadows the little light casts on Arthur’s face, and so, he doesn’t.  
  
“Beautiful,” Arthur breathes. “Your magic is—so beautiful.”  
  
“Thank you,” Merlin replies, choked up, because God, the way Arthur is looking at him—  
  
“So.” Arthur looks unsure of how to say what he wants to say, but determined to say it anyways. “You… _never_ want things to change between us? At all?”  
  
“I—” Warning bells are going off in Merlin’s head, and every bit of common sense he has ever had is telling him to _get out now_. But instead, he finds himself leaning closer to Arthur, to his impossible warmth, and saying, “I never said ‘never.’”  
  
“Good,” Arthur breathes against Merlin’s lips. “Neither did I.”  
  
Merlin isn’t surprised when Arthur leans forward and bridges the final distance between them, pressing his lips to Merlin’s. It’s natural, right. What else would he do, really?  
  
Arthur moves his lips against Merlin’s slowly, patiently, not at all the hasty way Merlin imagined he would. Carefully, he moves so that he’s above Merlin, straddling his hips, maintaining the steady pace at which he explores Merlin’s mouth. Merlin hardly even notices it when Arthur slips his tongue in Merlin’s mouth. And then, Arthur runs his tongue along Merlin’s, and _oh_ , Merlin _definitely_ notices that, moaning brokenly into Arthur’s mouth.  
  
Then, suddenly, Arthur pulls back and blurts, “No one can ever know. Merlin, I’m sorry, but if they knew—”  
  
“I know,” Merlin assures him, nodding. “I won’t tell anyone. You have my word.”  
  
Arthur nods, and Merlin pulls him back down by the back of his neck, pressing their lips back together.  
  
“It’s—it’s not like a servant/master thing,” Arthur rushes to say, pulling back again. “You—you don’t _have_ to; I—”  
  
“Arthur,” Merlin cuts him off, growing a touch annoyed. “I know.”  
  
“Right,” Arthur says, nodding as he leans back in and reattaches his lips to Merlin’s. Enough time passes that Merlin really thinks that’s enough of Arthur’s interruptions, but then Arthur pulls back _again_ to say, “Really, you are under no obligation to do this. You will not lose your job if you say no, so if you don’t want—”  
  
“Arthur, does it really seem like I don’t want this?” Merlin questions, rolling his hips up against Arthur’s so Arthur can feel the hardness there. Arthur gasps, and Merlin grins. “Now, would you please just fuck me?”  
  
“That,” Arthur breathes dizzily, “I can do.”  
  
From then on, it’s a frenzy of Arthur licking into Merlin’s mouth, Arthur kissing and biting and sucking bruises into Merlin’s neck, Arthur wringing Merlin’s nipples like they’re a new toy he’s just gotten. Merlin can’t do much more than lie there and accept it all, utterly overwhelmed, moaning and failing not to beg. He can’t get over the fact that this is _Arthur_ , and _him_ , and _him and Arthur, together in bed_. He can’t stop looking at that mop of blond hair, those striking blue eyes, those strong muscles that pin him to the bed as Arthur goes to town on his neck once more. He’s seen Arthur a million times, a million ways, but never like this. It’s so familiar, but so new.  
  
Before Arthur enters him, he checks about three times that Merlin really is ready, and Merlin’s heart swells. And then Arthur thrusts in, and Merlin sees white for a second, completely overtaken by the sensation of being filled up. Arthur gives them both a minute to adjust, and when Merlin tells him to “ _move_ , Arthur, _please_ ,” he does so.  
  
Arthur moves in and out of him, finding a rhythm soon enough, and Merlin can only make little broken noises and whimpers. And then Arthur shifts his angle, and Merlin cries out, losing any ability to censor himself. He finds himself babbling things he would never say otherwise, things like, “You’re perfect,” and, “Always wanted,” and “Only, you’re the _only one_ , I—Oh, God!”  
  
When he looks into Arthur’s eyes, he sees the same emotions he’s experiencing reflected there, and it’s everything. The connection he feels to Arthur is unlike anything he has ever felt before, to the point where he can say something as simple as, “I need,” and Arthur will understand him perfectly and adjust to accommodate.  
  
Merlin reaches a hand up into Arthur’s hair, feels the softness there, watches his hand draft through the golden locks. With that, Arthur speeds up his thrusts, and Merlin feels the pressure building inside him with every single one, like he’s riding a wave higher and higher, until it finally crests. With a shout, Merlin freezes, riding his release for a few blissful moments. Then, as the wave carries him back down to earth, he shudders through the last few tremors, and relaxes against the pillows.  
  
Arthur’s thrusts have lost all since of rhythm, as he jerks into Merlin with reckless abandon. Merlin runs his fingers through Arthur’s hair, murmurs soft phrases to him, and finally, after he grabs onto Arthur’s hair with some force, Arthur seizes up and chokes out a, “Merlin.” He continues to thrust sporadically into Merlin, who can feel Arthur’s seed filling him up, and he should be disgusted, but God, he’s not, he is so not. Arthur breathes deeply as he stutters out the final effects of his pleasure, and then collapses onto Merlin, planting his face in the crook of Merlin’s neck and breathing deeply.  
  
Merlin cards calming fingers through Arthur’s hair as he stares up at the red canopy. Eventually, a smile overtakes his face, because _finally_. Then, Arthur shifts, and the smile turns into a grimace. “All right,” he says, tapping Arthur’s shoulder. “Time to rearrange.”  
  
And they do, Arthur pulling out of Merlin, and getting them both cloths with which to clean themselves up. Arthur is far more attentive than Merlin would have imagined, gently turning Merlin around to wipe him down.  
  
By the time they’re finished with that, Merlin is thoroughly exhausted. Without a word, Arthur turns Merlin on his side and curls himself around Merlin. He should be thinking about the guards to Arthur’s chambers, how they won’t see Merlin leave that night and will probably be talking about it in the morning. But Arthur is wrapped around him, and he can’t make himself care about anything else. Content, Merlin lets sleep take him.  
  
***  
  
Merlin doesn’t think he’s been asleep for that long, but when he wakes up, sunlight is hitting his eyelids. He is surrounded by a warm body, and upon remembering that it’s Arthur’s body, smiles and snuggles in closer. He allows himself a few minutes of this, but when Arthur starts to stir, slowly opens his eyes.  
  
“’Morning,” he greets, looking back at Arthur with a grin.  
  
“’Morning,” Arthur says back, rubbing his eyes with the hand not resting on Merlin’s chest. His voice is gruff with sleep, his hair is mussed, and his eyes are a bit red. He’s gorgeous. “Did you sleep well?”  
  
“Quite well,” Merlin answers, still grinning. “You?”  
  
“Quite well indeed.”  
  
They just smile at each other for a moment, a little hesitant, a little cautious, but joyous nonetheless. Then Arthur sighs and shakes his head.  
  
“My father would _never_ approve of—” Arthur waves his hand at the room and continues, “—any of this. Not the magic, or… _this_.” He gestures between himself and Merlin.  
  
“Hey,” Merlin says. “You live your life for yourself, not your father, the way you want to live it. We all do.”  
  
Arthur surges forward then, pressing his lips to Merlin’s, and his mouth is sticky and his breath smells bad, but none of it matters as Merlin throws himself into the kiss, pouring all his devotion into it.  
  
When they pull away, they’re both panting, and Arthur breathes against Merlin’s lips, “I love you.”  
  
Merlin knows this can’t last, knows Arthur needs a queen and Merlin can never be that, knows everything that makes this impossible. But the words fall from his lips before he can stop them, “I love you too.”  
  
And now they’re left to pick up the pieces of it all.  
  
Arthur sighs. “Shouldn’t that be enough?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“So why isn’t it?”  
  
“It’s not our fault.”  
  
“It’s _my_ fault,” Arthur asserts, pulling away from Merlin, so they’re no longer spooning. “I’m the king. _I_ control the laws of the land. If I wanted, I could decriminalize this tomorrow.”  
  
“You’re already changing the kingdom so much with magic,” Merlin points out. “A change like that would cause mayhem, especially right now. That is out of your control. Some things have to be, right?”  
  
Arthur huffs out a humorless laugh. “Right.”  
  
“Everyone in the castle knows about Morgana and Gwen,” says Merlin. “And that’s not a problem.”  
  
“Because everyone knows to keep it in the castle,” Arthur argues. “If it were you and me, it definitely would not stay in the castle. And anyways, Morgana is never going to rule, so it’s a little different for her.”  


Merlin frowns. “So…that’s it, then? One night, and we forget it ever happened?”  
  
“Well, do you see any other way this can go?” Arthur throws back. “We don’t really have a lot of options here.”  
  
Merlin sighs, resigned to this fate, but then an idea strikes him. “What if we told people about the prophecy?”  
  
“Um…I’m not sure how that would help here, Merlin.”  
  
“Then we can explain why we’re together through late hours of the night!” Merlin explains urgently. “Why we go away together sometimes. What we’re doing together. And we won’t even be lying! Mostly.”  
  
“We’ll just be fucking too.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Arthur bursts out laughing, but after he settles down, says, “You know, that could actually work. If executed properly.” Merlin can already see the gears turning in Arthur’s head for how best to execute this. He smiles to himself and thinks, _Always planning strategy_.  
  
Then, Arthur’s face becomes drawn. “I will need a queen one day. And—an heir.” His face twists painfully at the last part.  
  
“I know,” Merlin says, nodding. “And I’m willing to work through that with you, if you are.”  
  
“I am,” Arthur asserts, and Merlin smiles.  
  
“Well then,” he says, and leans in to kiss Arthur again, just once, short and sweet. “I guess we agree on something for once.”  
  
***  
  
“How are you feeling?” Merlin asks, adjusting the collar of Arthur’s finest red robe.  
  
“Good,” Arthur replies, but his jaw is slightly tight.  
  
“What is it?” Merlin checks, moving around to dust the dirt off Arthur’s shoulders.  
  
“Nothing, just—” Arthur cuts himself off and sighs. “I need to talk to you about something.”  
  
Merlin’s stomach drops, and he has to work hard to control his breathing. “All right,” he says, voice sounding too high in his own ears. “About what?”  
  
“I want to know how you feel about a position change.”  
  
“Like—you want me on top?”  
  
Arthur throws his head back and outright guffaws. “ _No_ , you dollophead. I’m not talking about sex.”  
  
“Well, it’s sort of been preoccupying ourselves with it for the past week! Sorry if that’s what I go to first.”  
  
“I _meant_ ,” Arthur says, “a position change for you, _career-wise_.”  
  
Merlin’s brows draw together. “How so?”  
  
“What if,” Arthur suggests, adjusting Merlin’s red blazer collar, “you went from being my manservant to being my court sorcerer?”  
  
Merlin freezes, Arthur’s hands still futzing with his collar. “Are—are you serious?”  
  
“What about me makes it seem like I’m not serious?”  
  
“I—Nothing,” Merlin says, taking in the way Arthur’s head is held high. “I just—I’m not really sure I’m qualified for that.”  
  
Arthur throws his head back laughing again. “Merlin, you are literally the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the _earth_ ,” he says, resting his hands on Merlin’s neck. “I’d say you’re plenty qualified.”  
  
“But why do you even need a court sorcerer?”  
  
“To aid me in decisions regarding the use of magic and magical policy,” answers Arthur. “In an official capacity.”  
  
“But why _me_?”  
  
“Because you’re the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth!” he exclaims. “How many times do I have to say it?”  
  
“Sorry, it’s just—this is so…sudden.”  
  
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
“Because I knew you’d overthink about it!” Arthur throws his hands up in exasperation, then brings them together in front of his face. “Merlin, please, just—before you turn it down, just think about what it’d be like to have you as one of my advisers _for real_. And get all the respect you deserve.”  
  
“I don’t want all the ceremony that comes with that.”  
  
“It’s the only way for you to be taken seriously.”  
  
“Why is that so important?”  
  
“Because I want us to be equals in this,” declares Arthur. “And that’s not _why_ I’m asking; I’m asking because I need one and you’re the obvious choice. But I do want us to be equals. And this would be a way to help with that.”  
  
“Oh, Arthur. You—you don’t have to—”  
  
“I want to,” he insists. “I know we’ll never be true equals, because I’m the king, and that’s that, but…it’s better than you literally being my servant. And anyways, if we’re telling people about the prophecy today, it’s what they’ll expect. We’d really be able to fight _together_ on the battle-field. Consider this my official job offer. I really want you to accept.”  
  
Merlin peers at Arthur. He’s never wanted power, never thought of it as _something for him_. But he thinks about standing at Arthur’s side, and not having anyone question that. And sitting at the dinner table with Arthur and being able to _talk_ , rather than serve. Fighting together. Winning together. Equals.  
  
And maybe he just gives in because of the look Arthur is giving him, all earnest and vulnerable and loving, but it doesn’t really matter, because no matter what, he’d give in and say, “All right. I accept.”  
  
Arthur grins, and kisses him, slow and sweet. When he pulls away, he stays close and says against Merlin’s lips, “Brilliant.”  
  
They’re about to change the fate of the entire kingdom, but all that matters to Merlin is the smile on Arthur’s face, how Arthur’s arms are looped around his neck, and the way their foreheads are tipped together.  
  
“I’m really happy right now,” Arthur murmurs.  
  
“Me too,” Merlin agrees, and that’s enough.  
  
That, for now, is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! If you enjoyed, please leave kudos and a comment! I can be reached at thewriternotthemuse.tumblr.com, if you have any questions regarding this fic, or requests for future ones. <3


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